


Night terrors

by Kroelle



Category: Mo Dao Zu Shi, The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) RPF
Genre: 1k, Angst, Canon Compliant, Comfort, Family, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, M/M, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Trauma, baby sizhui has my entire heart, dad lwj :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:47:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21924661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kroelle/pseuds/Kroelle
Summary: Lan Wangji and Sizhui are both learning how to live "after".They both still sometimes have dreams about "before". Most importantly they both have each other "now".
Relationships: Lan Wangji / Wei Wuxian, WWX/LWJ, Wang Yi Bo & Xiao Zhan, Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan, lan zhan / wei ying
Comments: 17
Kudos: 161





	Night terrors

**Author's Note:**

> #THEY HAVE A SON  
> Here's a lil' thing about Lanzhan dealing with the loss of Wei Ying and being a parent. I get extremely emotional about struggling teen parent Lan Zhan and baby Sizhui. I gave myself motion sickness because i wrote this in the car, and it was 100% worth it. 
> 
> TW:  
> Blood / gore  
> Mentions of death

Playing the zither feels as natural to Lan Wangji as breathing. His daily practice is sometimes equal parts meditation and training. There is a certain melody he refrains from playing on most days, even though it feels like it’s just at the tip of his fingers. The song holds no magic, but it’s painful, nonetheless. This time though, he lets his fingers dance however they wish, and the notes swell around him, light and melancholic and incomplete. This time, it doesn’t hurt in the way it usually does; it just sits on his chest, heavy and real. 

Somewhere to his left, there’s a sigh and a shift in the air as someone moves to lay down. Lan Wangji doesn’t have to look to know who it is; the feeling of someone resting their head in his lap comes hand-in-hand with a familiar thug in his chest, a pleasant glow. He keeps his eyes closed and continues playing as the bright tones of a flute join his own deeper, more full ones. It’s a little like a release; like letting out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. The glow in his chest brightens and spreads, and he’s looking down without realising it. Wangji doesn’t say anything, yet the words still hang in the air.

“Wei Ying.” 

As he speaks, as he looks at his lover's peaceful face, he's inexplicably scared of what will happen when he’ll open his eyes. He doesn’t understand the fluttering feeling because when his eyes open, it’s just those dark eyes that feel like home, it’s just recognition and a smile as he puts down the flute. Wangji lets the last note from his Zither ring out as they please. 

“How do you play with your head in that position?” Wangji wonders aloud. Wei Ying doesn’t say anything and keeps smiling. The flute keeps playing, although it’s lying beside him. 

Wei Ying slowly reaches a hand up and touches Wangji’s cheek. He leans into the caress, tilts his head slightly to allow him access when he carefully moves to stroke the nape of his neck. The tips of his fingers, familiar and slender, push into his hair. The flute keeps playing, loud and shrill, as they hand suddenly grabs his hair and yanks it with an iron grip. Wangji gasps. Wei Ying's eyes are all white and his skin is pale and swollen and he is still smiling. Wangji can’t move a single muscle. In his lap, Wei Ying opens his mouth to speak, but the only thing that comes out is blood, pungent and overwhelming and everywhere. There is blood in his hair where the hand is still relentlessly keeping him in place. There is blood on his robe and his hands. The flute is still playing. Even if it’s just a raspy, gurgling sound, Wangji still knows what he’s saying. 

“You killed me, Lan Zhan.”

***

Lan Wangji wakes up with a violent tremble, heaving for air. He’s still lying like when he fell asleep; on his back and with his arms on his chest. But he’s sweating, back damp and dry lips tasting like salt. The warmth in his chest is gone, substituted by a hollow feeling and a thundering heartbeat. The weight on his thigh is still there, and for a confused moment, he thinks he’s still dreaming. He sits up to shake the suffocating heat off himself and sees a small shape in the dark curled up against his leg. 

“A yu- … Sizhui.” 

The small figure shifts slightly, his nose rubbing into his leg insistently. Wangji reaches a shaky hand out and by force of habit checks his forehead, pulse and breathing. Even if it’s an anxious habit, it’s easier to breath knowing he is alright.  
Sizhui is getting much too old to be sneaking into Lan Wangji’s bed to cling to his leg like this, almost 7 years old now. But Lan Wangji supposes it can’t be helped. Zishui went through a lot in his childhood, much of which he can’t remember, but he still has vague nightmares about it. When Wangji first brought him to Cloud Recesses, he was very weak and would often succumb to intense fevers. He was already starved, and getting him to eat was difficult when he was slipping in and out of fever-induced sleep. To easier take care of him and make sure he was stable, Lan Wangji kept him in his own bed during those times. Since then, Sizhui would always sneak into his bed when he felt lonely or scared. Wangji, try as he might, rarely had the heart to wake him and kick him out. Instead, he pretended he didn’t notice him coming in and simply reprimanding him in the morning, although not as harshly as he ought to. 

Wangji watches him sleep peacefully, so at odds with his own state of mind, and wonders what made him upset enough to run to Wangji this time. He strokes his hair while he takes deep, controlled breathes to slow his pulse. He’s usually not much for affection, and he knows he can’t keep treating Sizhui like he’s special forever, but the motion occupies his mind. He doesn’t indulge the tears, but he doesn’t try to stop them either. He tries to banish the lingering images from the dream and all the feelings that came with it, even if he knows it’s no use. he knows in the same way he knows it’s no use to keep looking for Wei Wuxian and it’s no use when others tell him to give up.

A few minutes pass before Lan Wangji feels calm enough to lay down again. Calmness gradually settles back into the room, and Sizhui peeks his eyes open.  
“Hanguang-jun,” he whispers, lifting his head. “Did you have a bad dream?”  
Lan Wangji considers playing at being asleep for a moment. He replies with a soft “mm.”  
“Me too… ” Sizhui says softly, maybe a plea for more comfort than he is already hogging.  
Lan Wangji gently puts a hand on his head, and Sizhui squeezes his leg a little tighter. Like this, both of them to fall back into a dark and peaceful sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE thanks for reading my tiny fics! I hope you liked it.  
> With this, I accept my fate as a one-shot hurt/comfort writer.  
> Come bug me on twitter @ddaengtang_D!!! or just comment here or smth u_u


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